Seniors Sleuth

by Jennifer J. Chow

  “I never knew, Marcy,” Winston said. “I thought you were so busy with work that you two opted not to have kids.”

  “I let you think that. It was easier on me, not to worry you. The truth is, I go to all these conferences to get away from the problems at home.”

  Winston turned on the faucet, rinsing away the bubbles on his hands and in the sink. “I don’t get it. Can’t you use some fancy biotechnology to make kids instead of taking stress relievers?”

  She laughed in a shattered voice. “Winston, I’m forty-five. I’m not going to have kids now. Besides, Gary wanted everything natural. And no, we never talked about adoption.”

  Winston put his arm around her shoulder. “Since the kiddies stage has passed, can’t you two move on?”

  “It’s harder than it looks. The worst part is seeing friends’ kids grow up and trying to act happy in front of them.” She rubbed at the mark on her arm. “This new drug helps me. It’s pretty natural, and it acts like a booster for any medicine, making the ingredients three times as potent, so I combine it with the valerian. I pay a ton more to just get the enhancer in the set.”

  “I’m not following you. Is there a combo involved?”

  “The company, Sana Technologies—”

  “Haven’t I seen that name somewhere?”

  “They’re on billboards all across the city.” He remembered the name gracing a sign next to the old Sweet Breeze building. “Anyway, they’ve created a combo dementia treatment. There’s the booster portion and the medicine part, and it’s packaged together for dementia patients.” She unzipped her suitcase and pulled out a slender silver tube labeled, “Marcy Wong.”

  Winston grabbed the vial out of her hands and examined it. This could be a vital clue in his case. But he couldn’t even figure out how to open the thing.

  “Wow,” Marcy said. “I never knew you were so concerned about my welfare.”

  Winston gave his sister back her medication. “Sorry, I snatched it from you.” Maybe it was better to play along with her assumption, though. She would provide more info if she thought he was the sympathetic little brother.

  “I’m wondering,” Winston said. “How did you get that mark on your arm?”

  “It’s harmless, Winston. It’s from the company, Sana Technologies. Do you see the ‘S’ symbol?” Oh, it was supposed to be a letter, not a figure eight. “It’s a temporary tattoo, so I can find the right injection site.”

  “I don’t know anything about medicine, Marcy.”

  “You put it where you want to inject the booster, so that it’ll absorb properly.”

  Winston touched his sister’s tattoo. A birthmark on a dead man resembling the tattoo used by a company offering a new dementia drug. What were the chances it was a coincidence? Winston was no longer a betting man, but he’d have staked some cash on those odds.

  “Stop thinking about it,” Marcy said. She swatted his hand away. “I’m totally fine, and it’ll come off in about five days.” She ruffled his hair, like he was kid again. “By the way, I liked your new girlfriend.”

  “Kristy, yeah, she’s great.”

  “What a nice woman. I can’t believe she cooked dinner for us and everything. She’s pretty, too, with her raven hair and porcelain skin. Don’t mess this one up.”

  “I won’t. I promise,” Winston said. His sister had just reminded him. Kristy would know the ins and outs of Eve’s medications. Maybe she could tie the case to Carmen, who was now the happy possessor of the old Sweet Breeze home. “Actually, I need to make a phone call to Kristy now. I’ll thank her for dinner and stuff.”

  For privacy, Winston retreated to his room to place the call.

  “Hello?” Kristy’s voice was groggy. He’d probably pulled her out of bed. His mind dwelled on an image of her soft sheets a beat too long. “Winston, I have caller ID. I know it’s you.”

  He refocused on the conversation. “Kristy, thanks for dinner… And I have a question for you. Did Eve have any new drugs for her dementia? Something from Sana Technologies?”

  “The name doesn’t ring a bell.” It wouldn’t be so easy to trace the connection to Carmen then. “Why?”

  “I’ll tell you later when I get more info. Go back to sleep, Kristy.”

  He hung up and searched for his sister. She was getting ready for bed. “Your conference starts in the afternoon, right?” She nodded. “How about a field trip bright and early tomorrow?”

  CHAPTER 37

  Sana Technologies took up all six floors of the mirrored building. Winston and Marcy stood looking at its imposing structure from the parking lot.

  “I don’t know why you wanted a tour, anyway. It’s all above board,” Marcy said. She shook her head. “I know what medications are appropriate. I’m a professional, remember?”

  “Humor me,” Winston said. He needed to go inside to get the scoop on this new drug. It might prove to be the key to his case.

  Sana Technologies’ shiny exterior reflected back the sun’s harsh rays, so that Winston stumbled as he walked into the slick marble interior. The ice blonde receptionist (her hair as well as her temperament) eyed Winston with distrust. “This is a private company,” she said.

  “My sister’s taking one of your drugs—”

  The receptionist scowled at Winston. “We don’t work with patients directly here. Call the 1-800 number on the medicine with your complaints.”

  Marcy nudged Winston to the side, whispering in his ear first, “Let me handle it.” She straightened her posture and addressed the receptionist. “I’m Marcy Wong. I recently published an article about the cross-disciplinary effects of DM-160 with herbal remedies and its ramifications on public consumption.”

  The receptionist’s mouth hung open. “What did you say? Are you a doctor?”

  “Tell Lewis Crate that Dr. Wong is here,” Marcy said. “He’ll know who I am.”

  “Right away.” The receptionist dialed Crate’s extension and announced them. After she hung up, the receptionist said, “Dr. Crate is waiting for you in his office. He said that you’ll know the way from your last visit.”

  They reached Crate’s office using a ten-second elevator speed ride. The placard outside his office read, “Lewis Crate, Ph.D. Director of Scientific Research.” On the top floor, Crate’s view consisted of the roofs of nearby buildings. When Winston met Crate, he imagined that towering over others was his typical view; the man had to be at least six foot seven. The sandy-haired man grinned at Marcy and shook hands with Winston using a strong grip. Crate then turned to Winston’s sister. “Marcy Wong, to what do I owe this pleasure?”

  “My brother Winston is interested in learning more about your medication, DM-160.”

  “How does it work, Dr. Crate?” Winston asked. The doctor, excited at a captive audience, droned on and on about the medication. In the end, Winston came away with the same facts that Marcy had already given him. DM- 160 was given as a shot; part of it was a booster and part of it was the actual medication. How could the man keep all those chemical compounds straight in his mind? Could Crate see that Winston didn’t understand a word he was saying? Winston licked his lips; he did that whenever he was nervous.

  “Thirsty?” Crate poured out two glasses of chilled Evian water for his guests.

  “Why the specific interest in DM-160, though? Do you know someone who has Alzheimer’s? Or…you seemed dazed back there.” Crate held the frosted bottle aloft, his bicep bulging through the thin shirt, an advertisement of his youth. “Have you noticed some symptoms yourself, Winston?”

  “My mind is working fine.” Winston took a gulp from his water glass and imagined spitting it out at Crate. “I’m here in regards to a patient of yours.”

  Marcy nudged Winston. “You don’t have to be so formal.” She looked at Crate and grinned. “Actually, since I’m a patient of yours, my little brother is worried—”

  Winston spoke over his sister. “It’s for an investigation I’m working on.”

  Marcy gave
Winston her look of death. It was the one that had reduced her peers to tears during the school years, when she’d carried home all those math and science awards. Like the optic blast from Cyclops.

  Crate put the water down and examined Winston. “Are you a police officer?” His hands trembled a little. “Or with the IRS?”

  “A private detective.”

  “Ah.” Crate gave an indulgent smile and crossed his legs. “Do go on.”

  “I wanted to know if a woman named Eve Solstice received DM-160 from your company.”

  “Tsk, tsk, Detective.” Crate shook his finger at Winston. “I can’t reveal confidential client information.”

  Marcy chimed in. “Yes, I don’t think he should either. Winston, it’s not like you even have a real detective bad—”

  Winston stepped on Marcy’s toe with his sneaker (he’d exchanged his usual flip-flops for formal shoe wear on this occasion). He caught her on that vulnerable exposed skin area right above her pumps, and she gave a little yelp. Winston started talking again before she could recover. “I’m in the process of starting my detective career, as my dear sister knows.”

  Crate looked back and forth between Marcy and Winston, but wisely kept his mouth shut.

  “Excuse us, Lewis. It’s time for my brother and I to leave.” Marcy said this while rubbing her foot. She started practically dragging Winston away, but he wasn’t going to leave when he was so close to getting more information. He aimed a pinch at the “S” mark on her arm (thank goodness for short-sleeved dress suits). She was still sore at the injection site and let him go.

  Lewis checked his watch. “I do need to get back to work. See you at a future conference, Marcy.” He gave Winston a hard stare. “Have a good day, Detective.”

  Winston nodded at him and left with Marcy. Once outside, she faced him with her hands on her hips. “You’re in big trouble.”

  “When am I not with you?”

  “Why is everything a joke to you? I embarrassed myself back there.” Her face started getting red, but she checked her watch and began taking deep breaths. “I need to speak at the convention in less than an hour.”

  Thank goodness Marcy needed full concentration and couldn’t afford to be flustered at the podium. Maybe he could even barter with her. “Too bad you didn’t rent a car. How about you forgive me, and I give you the ride you need?”

  “Maybe I’ll hail a cab.”

  Winston looked around the parking lot and on the main street. Not a circling taxi in sight. “This isn’t NYC, sis.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me this tour was for your case?” Marcy asked. She had moved from pure rage to a hint of sadness. “I thought you were worried about me.”

  “I am. It’s still sad about you and Gary.” Winston paused. He wasn’t sure that he sounded sincere enough to her. After all, he’d just been fishing for information back at Sana Technologies and had pinched her.

  Marcy raised her eyebrows at him. It didn’t look like she believed a word he was saying. He tried to pat her shoulder in sympathy, but it looked a little like he was just pulling lint off her suit. He needed to make her understand. They were siblings through it all, and they were stuck with each other for life (the only ones of their family left).

  “You know I need this case,” Winston said. “Mom and Dad were right. The video game stuff didn’t work out for me. I need to make sure this detective thing succeeds.”

  “Men,” Marcy said, swatting his hand away from her shoulder, where he was continuing his ineffectual patting.

  Winston was betting on habit, her usual protocol of rescuing her dorky little brother. He needed her help, and that was like a siren call for her personality. Marcy bit her lip, but she made her way to the car and opened the door.

  She got inside but before buckling, she looked over at him. “What else are you gonna give me?”

  Whenever he’d screwed up in the past, he’d had to make it up to her with treats, bribes, something. “I promise to redo the house,” Winston said. “You can stay over whenever you want—in a proper room.”

  “I get to choose the color scheme and the furnishings.”

  “Deal.” They used their secret handshake, a combination of some girly patty cake move and a manly fist bump. He breathed a sigh of relief—they were okay…for now.

  He dropped her off at the herbology convention without further incident and dialed Kristy in the hotel parking lot.

  “Can you help me out?” Winston asked. “Who’s Eve’s primary physician, and where’s his office?”

  “I can’t quite remember. I think the name starts with a ‘D,’ though.”

  Winston thumped his hand against the steering wheel. How else could he proceed? He decided to ask Kristy for the previous Sweet Breeze residents’ new locations. Time to make the rounds again and grill the eyewitnesses. Ladies first, he decided.

  CHAPTER 38

  Anastasia lived at the Silicon Valley Skilled Nursing Facility. It looked like a hospital with its imposing concrete structure. Sliding glass doors opened onto a world of white walls. The fierce air conditioning made Winston shiver, and he wondered if they used the cold air to decrease the odor of stale urine. The place would require nose plugs if the smell was left to ripen in warm stuffiness.

  He stepped up to the nurse at the front station. “I’m looking for the Russian princess who stays here.” He had no doubt Anastasia had already impressed the workers with her royal lineage, but the woman gave her bushy head a shake. Her black curls flew out like Medusa’s snakes, even hissing in the air. “No such person. I need her name, please.”

  “Anastasia. She recently transferred here from Sweet Breeze.”

  The nurse pulled out a roster sheet. “Let me look at the admittance dates. Found it. Now, sign here.” She stuck a clipboard in his face, and he filled out the visitor info sheet.

  “Where do I go?”

  “Down that corridor.” She jerked her thumb to the right. “101C.”

  He wandered around the hallway and then circled back before finding Room 101. He wasn’t sure what the “C” part meant until he entered the cramped space. Apparently, Anastasia’s room was split into three sections, one for each of its inhabitants. The resident closest to the door, slot “A,” was not in her space. The second roommate, stuck in the middle “B” position, slept deeply. A high-pitched snoring hung in the air like a siren.

  He found Anastasia, resident C, tucked near the back wall. She occupied a rusted hospital bed, which looked like it would splinter into pieces. A crooked over-the-bed table held a glass of water, which threatened to spill from its precarious position. He tried to steady the drink.

  “Forget about it, Winston. It’ll be fine,” Anastasia said. “Thanks for visiting.”

  “How are you doing, Anastasia?” Winston eyed the room. Its smallness felt claustrophobic compared to Sweet Breeze. He couldn’t believe her princess personality was reduced to this lowly place. And perhaps all for nothing, if he’d pointed the finger at the wrong man.

  “Want to hear something funny?” Anastasia said. “You know the residents’ nickname for this place?” He shook his head. “House for Survivors, they call it,” she said. “First, I thought it was because all of us are so old. Then I realized we weren’t surviving life, but this place.” Now he felt even worse about the whole thing.

  “I’m sorry you couldn’t stay at Sweet Breeze—it was so spacious there,” Winston said. “It had a real sense of community. When I asked the nurse up front to lead me to the Russian princess, she had no idea whom I was talking about.”

  “The nurses often forget our names, but that’s not why she didn’t know.” Anastasia flipped one hand in the air, like she was swatting at a fly. “I don’t use that line about my fake heritage anymore.”

  “Really?” Winston eyed the glittering entourage of jewels lined up on her fingers.

  She followed his gaze. “That doesn’t mean I don’t still dress with flair. I just don’t need to lie about my birth
origin. Being an orphan is A-okay with folks in these parts.” She snorted. “Half the residents don’t even remember my background anyway.”

  Anastasia smoothed the buttery chiffon shawl wrapped around her shoulders. “So is this purely a social call, Winston? You should have told me earlier… I would’ve put on more makeup.” She patted her face, which already held a heavy layer of pale powder.

  “I’m afraid not, Anastasia. I’m still investigating Joe’s death.”

  She stopped preening before him. “What do you mean? Isn’t Rob behind bars awaiting a trial?” She licked her lips, as though tasting something delicious. “Wait a minute. Did he escape?”

  “No, it’s nothing like that. I think Joe’s death might have been more complicated than I first thought.” Winston told her about how the police didn’t find any poison in the vial from Rob’s mini fridge. “Can you go over the day of Joe’s death once more, Anastasia? Tell me about who was gathered there to celebrate your birthday.”

  She tapped her hand against the slanted table. Her costume rings clinked against its plastic surface. “Nobody unusual. Rob, Kristy, the other residents.”

  She stopped drumming her fingers. “Oh, Carmen was there, too. She always wants to be center of attention, but you can’t upstage the birthday girl.”

  Carmen was at Sweet Breeze the day Joe had died, which meant she’d had the opportunity to take his life. “I need to go, Anastasia,” Winston said.

  As he exited the nursing facility, Winston saw a giant US flag waving from across the street. Two letters popped into sight: VA. He double-checked the address. Perfect. Looked like it was time to visit Pete Russell.

  CHAPTER 39

  The VA housing unit displayed an efficient look due to its chrome structure. It ran like a modern-day hospital, with its staff traipsing up and down the hallways. Winston couldn’t even begin to count all the doctors, nurses, psychologists, physical and occupational therapists, their clipboards in hand, off to visit various rooms.